I am not a farmer and
the corn has nothing to do with me
but I like to watch it come up
as if by watching I could slow it down, still the moment, and make it mine.
I like to see the liquid black manure coating the fields and then
the couple of little leaves just an inch or two above the ground.
Then faster than possible a foot tall,
then two feet,
then over my head and rustling in the wind,
then tassels.
All summer long I watch its progress.
But it has nothing to do with me.
I dreamed I missed it this year. That it had sprung up and been harvested before I’d had a chance to watch it.
Yes. Just, yes.